Chapter 8: The Sin That Smiles

The next morning, the city was restless.

Birds still chirped, traffic still buzzed, and people still rushed about with their routines—but something beneath the surface had changed. A subtle tension crawled through the streets like a slow leak of poison. No one could say what was wrong, yet no one could pretend everything was right.

He stood by the window, mask gone, features calm. The sunlight crawled across his cheek like it wasn't sure if it should touch him. In the reflection, his eyes looked darker than usual. Deeper. As though something had pulled back the curtain behind them, revealing a stage that no one was meant to see.

The mask was hidden again—buried in a small pit beneath the floorboards of an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city. He didn't need to wear it to feel it now. The power had sunk deeper than skin. It pulsed through his bones, hummed in his breath, whispered in his blood.

He could feel everything.

Every soul within a mile. Every surge of spiritual energy. Every lie.

Every fear.

And yet… he felt no joy in it.

This wasn't the thrill he used to chase. Not the chaos he once craved. The killings, the violence, the dark urges—those were still there, still gnawing at the corners of his mind. But now they felt like echoes. Reminders of a version of himself that existed only to be reborn into someone who understood why he was broken.

It wasn't the death that had made him a monster.

It was the hunger.

A hunger that went beyond flesh.

It was the desire to consume what made others whole—identity, peace, hope.

And yet, here he was… trying to live like a normal person.

Trying.

He stepped outside just as a group of neighborhood kids ran past him. A ball bounced to his feet. A little girl chased after it, eyes wide.

He bent down and picked it up, handing it to her with a faint smile.

She stared at him for a second too long before whispering, "You're scary."

He didn't respond. Just nodded, and walked on.

Later that afternoon, he met with someone he hadn't expected.

A man in a tattered robe, blindfolded, staff in hand—standing outside the alley where he had buried the mask.

"You're late," the man said.

"I didn't know we had an appointment."

"You didn't. But he did." The blind man tilted his head. "The you before you."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're from the Upper World?"

"Higher." The man smiled with teeth far too white for someone who lived in the dirt. "But not here to fight. I'm just… checking the balance."

"Balance of what?"

"Sin."

He stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "You smell like heaven. But your tongue drips like a demon."

"That's because Heaven isn't what you think it is," the man whispered. "And Hell… is far more honest."

They stood in silence for a moment.

Then the blind man lifted his chin and said, "You've already started to feel it, haven't you?"

He didn't answer.

The man continued anyway. "The hunger changing. The cravings evolving. It's no longer about killing. It's about consuming. You feel it when you look at people—what makes them who they are. And somewhere deep inside, you wonder what it would feel like… to take that."

He clenched his jaw.

"Don't worry," the man chuckled. "You've resisted so far. That's better than most."

He took a step forward. "You came here for a reason. Say what you need to say."

"I came to deliver a message." The man lowered his staff, and the ground trembled. "The Three Realms are aligning again. A convergence is coming. One that hasn't happened in ten thousand years."

"And?"

"And it's waking the old ones. The ones that even you forgot existed."

He frowned. "What do they want?"

"You."

A pause.

"They want to judge the Devourer."

He laughed. Not from amusement—but from the sheer absurdity. "Judge me? Who gave them the right?"

The blind man's smile widened. "You did. When you shattered the Seventh Seal and claimed the Hunger Crown."

He didn't remember that.

The man tapped his temple. "Not yet. But you will. When the sky bleeds and the stars scream."

He turned to walk away.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The man paused. "I don't have one anymore. Names are for people who still think they can be saved."

And then he vanished.

Just like that.

No flash. No noise.

Just gone.

That night, the dreams returned.

But they weren't dreams.

They were memories.

He stood on a battlefield.

Mountains cracked in the distance.

The air tasted like ash and sorrow.

Corpses stretched beyond the horizon—angelic, demonic, human, beast.

At the center of it all stood a younger version of himself—cloaked in shadow, wearing the white mask, holding a weapon that pulsed with so much soul energy it made the stars flicker.

He watched as that version of himself raised a hand.

And from the skies above, a mouth opened.

Not a metaphorical one.

A literal, yawning mouth the size of a continent, with teeth made of ancient runes and a tongue shaped like a black hole.

It ate the battlefield.

Swallowed everything.

Even the light.

Even sound.

When he woke up, his hands were shaking.

His pillow soaked in blood.

And the walls of his room were whispering.

"Feed. Feed. Feed."

He got up slowly. Went to the sink. Splashed cold water on his face.

Looked in the mirror.

His reflection didn't blink.

Didn't move.

It just stared.

Then… it smiled.

By the next morning, the news had spread.

In the far north, near the edge of the Upper World's domain, an entire fortress city had vanished.

No survivors.

No signs of battle.

No blood.

Just gone.

The city had housed a Hero-in-training.

One chosen by the Sky Temple.

Rumors spread like fire:

—Some said it was Heaven's punishment for corruption.

—Others whispered that the Demon King had returned.

—A few said they saw shadows with mouths… devouring the sky.

He knew better.

It wasn't him.

It was one of the shadows.

One of his three thousand.

Acting on instinct.

They were connected to him.

But they also had will.

If his own hunger was returning…

So was theirs.

And he hadn't yet told them to stop.

Because deep down, a part of him didn't want to.

Not yet.

Not until he knew what was coming.

Not until he remembered everything.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon again, he sat on the rooftop and looked out at the city.

His sister called to him from the kitchen window. She wanted help with homework.

He went inside. Pretended everything was normal. Ate dinner. Told a joke that made her laugh.

Watched his mother smile faintly for the first time in days.

He wanted to keep this.

This small, fragile peace.

He really did.

But somewhere far away…

In a realm of silence and stars…

The First Mouth was stirring again.

And its whisper drifted through the darkness, reaching only his ears:

"We are hungry."